


Shelter From the Weather

by jane_ways



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Reader does not take Loki's BS, Reader-Insert, Sassy Reader, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Steve is a good friend, Steve is maybe too good of a friend, if you know what i mean, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_ways/pseuds/jane_ways
Summary: When Loki leaves you high and dry, your friend Steve tries to help mend your broken heart. But as you and Steve grow closer, your friendship threatens to evolve into something more. Will Loki’s jealousy get you back in his arms and his bed—or will you risk losing your best friend in search of the perfect relationship with him?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Midnight_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Queen/gifts).



> Hi, all! This is my first Marvel fic - hope you enjoy! Please comment and let me know what you think :)  
> Inspired by [this post by imagines-loki-laufeyson. ](https://imagines-loki-laufeyson.tumblr.com/post/175615531127/imagine-loki-breaking-your-heart-and-years-later)
> 
> Title from [Hard Rain by Lykke Li.](https://youtube.com/watch?v=mzvBGIna5K0)
> 
> This chapter's theme song: [Dying to Know by Tegan and Sara.](youtube.com/watch?v=0C62PVctMSg)
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful Midnight_Queen for her encouragement and advice during the writing of this fic!

‘When did I become this person?’

Sitting back on your haunches, you surveyed your handiwork. Never had a rooftop garden been more pristinely cared for—each hedge precisely trimmed, each flower inspected for the telltale decay that signaled it was time to pluck it, each architectural element perfectly placed and scrubbed clean with a vigor you didn’t know you possessed.

“When did I become a person who cares if a hedge has one branch growing out of place?” you repeated, out loud this time.

“You could find a worse outlet for frustration.”

At the sudden break to your reverie, you started, turning to see who had joined you on the roof of the Avengers Tower. Squinting into the sun, you saw Steve smiling, a bottle of water in his outstretched hand. “I thought you could probably use a break,” he continued.

“Thanks,” you replied, taking off your gardening gloves. The cool temperatures of the morning had steadily risen as the hours slipped by unnoticed, and you were considerably warmer and more dehydrated than you had planned on being.

“It looks nice,” offered Steve. Sitting down on a bench under a shaded arbor, he motioned for you to join him. “Seems like a good place to sit and think,” he said. “Or be alone,” he added, a little more gently.

“Hey, like you said, worse outlets and all,” you replied. Looking down at your hands, you gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Steve put his hand on your knee, and you glanced up, finally meeting his eyes. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, I just—I wanted to make sure you were OK,” he said.

Giving a bitter laugh, you turned back and looked out over the garden. “I have no one to blame but myself. I mean, I know who he is—what he is—and I know enough about his history. I guess I just got sucked in by all those stupid rom-coms where the woman fixes the hot loser and turns him into a dream boyfriend, or something. Guess I forgot the one where he breaks up with her out of the blue with no explanation,” you answered.

“Hey,” Steve murmured, putting his arm around you gently, “It’s not your job to fix anybody. It’s his job to want to be a better person—a person you deserve.”

Steve’s grip on your shoulder tightened in solidarity, and you were thankful for the touch and the warmth, even in the heat. It grounded you to the physical world around you, the beauty around you—the flowers, the trees, the skyline silhouetted against a searing blue sky. Not to mention Steve. He was your friend, but although you’d never considered him your type, he wasn’t a bad-looking guy.

Suddenly that train of thought had you feeling a little too warm. Since when did you start feeling uncomfortable about Steve Rogers? He was your friend, for God’s sake, and the mom friend at that. ‘Guess this breakup really is getting to me,’ you thought. ‘Hormones all out of whack, or whatever.’

Shrugging off Steve’s arm, you stood up. “Well, I think it’s time for a shower. We still on for movie night?” you asked.

“Absolutely,” he answered with a grin.

*

Settling into the couch, you picked up the remote and scrolled through your options. Technically, you supposed FRIDAY could help, but it was just faster to do it yourself. It was your turn to pick a movie or TV show this week, so you’d arrived a few minutes early to sort through your options. This had become your and Steve’s weekly tradition: Thursday night, at 9 o’clock, you had your movie nights.

You’d originally conceived of them as a way to help Steve familiarize himself with popular culture, and although he’d long since moved on to binging shows on his own, it remained a staple of the Avengers household. Sometimes others joined you, most often Natasha or Sam, but tonight it was just you and Steve. The residential quarters of the tower had been quiet today, and it seemed most everyone was out for the evening or otherwise occupied. Maybe that was for the best. You weren’t really in the best mood, and the fewer people around, the less you had to fake being alright. Suddenly, though, a voice—smooth and low—broke the stillness.

“Planning another stimulating evening with Captain Rogers, are we?”

 _Loki_. Your heart skipped a beat. The air suddenly seemed oppressive and thick, and about ten degrees too warm. Drawing a deep breath, you turned in your seat to face him. He leaned against the doorframe, all long legs and moody eyes. Despite his disaffected air, you knew better. He was here to pick a fight, and you’d be damned before you gave him the satisfaction of winning.

“Loki, Steve and I have been doing movie nights for ages. You even joined us sometimes—”

At this Loki interrupted to scoff under his breath, feigning an examination of his fingernails.

“—And you even _liked_ it,” you all but spat out. Loki’s head snapped back up, eyes boring into yours. “And before you cut me off with some snide comment again,” you continued, “For what it’s worth, I happen to enjoy the company of a man who’s actually interested in engaging with a new culture, and not just pissing and moaning about how subpar it is to what he’s used to. It’s…” you trailed off, pretending to search for the right word, just for emphasis. Meeting his eyes once again, you let the feigned recognition break across your face: “… _Stimulating_.”

You let that comment hang. Loki may have known your weaknesses, but damn if you didn’t know his too; you figured his inferiority complex was a raw enough nerve to get him to leave you alone, and maybe even do some damage, while you were at it. Loki held his gaze, eyes burning like sapphires, long past the point where his eye contact had ceased to be comfortable, before whirling around and stalking off.

*

By the time Steve arrived a few minutes later with a couple bottles of beer, you were closing to breaking, the dammed-up emotions threatening to burst through to the surface. Seeing your tightly-drawn face, he set the bottles down and turned to you. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“Loki,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

“He’s around tonight? I thought he’d be off…somewhere,” Steve trailed off, embarrassed.

“Off with whoever he’s decided to make tonight’s lucky one-night wonder?” you supplied, bitterness hardening the edges of your words.

Steve put his arm around you and rubbed your shoulder. “Hey, you don’t know that,” he said gently.

“Well, what I am I supposed to assume, with him going out every night, coming back late, or not at all?” Turning your face to rest on Steve’s shoulder, you groaned. “Sorry. I know what you’re gonna say: it’s not helpful to think like that. And you’re right, of course.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” he replied with a gentle tousle of your hair. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

You sat up a bit to face Steve. Scooting in your seat to be able to look at him, you answered, “He tried to pick a fight about movie night, of all things, like it’s any of his damn business what I do with my evenings or who I spend them with.”

Steve shrugged. “Well, you guys just broke up; even if he ended things, he’s probably not too happy to see you spending time with another guy,” he offered.

You gaped at him. “But Steve, we’re friends! We’ve been friends for ages—since before he and I even met! We’ve been doing movie nights for—well, it seems like forever; how could he possibly jealous about _that_?”

“Well…” Steve paused, trying to think of the right thing to say.

You sighed in frustration, trying to get your mind off the upsetting encounter. “Let him think whatever the fuck he wants,” you said. “I just want him to go have his snit fit somewhere else.”

“I didn’t say it made sense,” Steve said, shrugging again. “I may not be the most experienced with relationships, but I know how I’d feel if I saw my girl hanging around somebody else. Heck, I used to get sad when I saw my dates go ask Bucky for a dance—and I was the one who’d just told them I didn’t feel like dancing!” Seeing your furrowed eyebrows, he continued, “Like I said, it doesn’t have to make sense. I was too shy to dance, and I figured those gals would prefer Buck to me anyways, so I rejected them before they could reject me.”

“What are you, a marriage counselor?” you asked, but your tone was gentle and your laugh was real, if quiet. “That does make sense, though.” You paused, considering. Turning to Steve, you asked in a small voice, “Do you think that’s why he ended things?”

Steve’s gaze softened. “Maybe,” replied. “It would fit his personality, fear of rejection and all that. Although I doubt he’s the kind of guy to just let that sort of thing go, like I did back then.”

You settled into the couch, both of you sitting in comfortable silence. Suddenly, a thought struck you. “You know what we should do?” you asked, turning to Steve suddenly.

Guessing at what you were about to suggest, Steve gave you his best disappointed mom look. “Waving our friendship in Loki’s face to make him jealous is not a mature solution,” he said sternly.

“Fuck maturity,” you replied, “And fuck him. He needs a taste of his own medicine. And you know what?” you continued. “I think you agree—you’re just too much of a good guy to say so.” Steve pursed his lips and looked off to the side with a frown, which confirmed your suspicions. “Well, lucky for you, I’m asshole enough for both of us,” you said with a mischievous smile. “Besides, think of it this way—maybe you’re right, and he broke up with me to avoid me breaking up with him. If he gets jealous enough, he might let down his guard enough for us to actually talk about it. You know that conversation is never gonna happen unless he’s pissed enough to get vulnerable, he has way too many walls put up.”

Steve sat for a moment, turning the idea over in his mind. “Well, espionage was never my forte,” he replied, with a degree of resignation. Turning to look at you once more, he continued, a little more gently, “But you deserve to know why he ended things, at least. And besides,” he added, a twinkle in his eye, “I guess if it means we get to spend more time together, it’s not such a bad idea, right?”

“Exactly,” you answered with a smile.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misunderstanding with Loki leads to an unexpected reconnection, but "friend dates" with Steve are beginning to have less of the "friends" and more of the "dates."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's theme songs:  
> [Miracle by CHVRCHES](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1YqueG2gtQ)  
> [Bad Boy by Dan Croll](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5THiYqJtIA)
> 
> Content warning: this chapter includes a description of sexual desire influenced by alcohol; everything involves two consenting adults doing what they would have been tempted to do sober, anyways, and there is no coercion on anyone's part. Still, if you think this content will upset you, I advise not reading the last couple sections (after "Oh, shit").

The mid-morning sun streamed through the windows, casting large, warm swaths of light over the kitchen. Pushing your bagel into the toaster, you turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Good morning,” Sam said, strolling over to the cabinet with mugs and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Sam,” you replied.

“How was your movie night?” he asked. “Sorry I couldn’t join you guys last night.”

“Oh, that’s ok,” you responded, opening the fridge in search of cream cheese. “Steve and I watched _The Return of the King._ We’ve both seen it before, but we both like it a lot.” And Steve knew it would make you feel better, but you kept that thought to yourself. Finally locating the cream cheese behind several layers of Tupperware and beverage containers—‘Put things back where you found them, Clint, jeez’—you turned to ask Sam about his evening. Just as you opened your mouth to ask him, though, you caught a glimpse of dark hair and pale skin just outside the doorway.

Loki.

Hesitantly, he meandered over to the other end of the large kitchen. He wore a deep green V-neck, its collar dipping just below his clavicle. The shirt was a little loose, but still hung off him in just the right way to give a suggestion of the muscles underneath. Black harem sweatpants completed the look—his usual sleeping attire. An attire with which, of course, you were intimately familiar with, having seen it on him (and on the bedroom floor) more times than you could count during your relationship. Former relationship, you reminded yourself. The thought still burned raw.

You weren’t about to make the first move and say anything—especially not after your and Loki’s fight last night. Wordlessly, you smeared the cream cheese over your bagel, eyes not leaving the knife. Loki, for his part, was gazing intently at an apple from the fruit bowl and studiously avoiding your gaze.

“This is awkward,” Sam muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. Pretending to remember something urgent, he beat a hasty retreat out of the kitchen. When push came to shove, you knew Sam would be there if you needed him, but he respected you enough to let you fight your own battles. Besides, a lady always knows when to leave, or something like that.

Leaving, you thought, was a pretty good idea, but Loki’s voice stopped you. “So,” he asked softly, “how was your film last night?”

‘What? What the hell?’ you thought. ‘Last night he bites my head off for having guy friends to watch movies with, and now he wants to know all about the same thing he was bitching about me doing?’ But Loki’s voice held none of its customary spite or sarcasm. He seemed, if anything, almost nervous. Was he trying to apologize?

“It was good, thanks for asking,” a voice called out from the doorway. Steve. His voice was neutral, even a fairly pleasant. But it carried an edge, and a reminder— _I was with her, and you weren’t._

Loki stiffened, all the angles of his body suddenly sharp.

“How was your night, Loki?” Steve continued, apparently nonchalant. Steve was the only person you knew who could weaponize genuine politeness.

Snatching an apple from the bowl, Loki snapped, “I’m sure you’re terribly interested, Captain, but I’d hate to interrupt you two.” He stalked out of the kitchen, seething. Steve turned to you, his eyebrows raised.

“Golly,” he remarked, “that guy sure has an inferiority complex.”

With a small laugh that bore little humor, you replied, “Well, looks like Operation: Piss Off My Ex By Having Male Friends is off to a strong start.” So why didn’t that fact make you feel any less terrible?

Noticing you looked inexplicably glum, Steve came up with a quick plan. “Hey,” he suggested, “let’s go to the Met today. They have that special costumes exhibit you wanted to see.” The exhibit was a special collection on loan to the museum featuring period garb from around the world, and you _had_ been dying to go. In fact, you’d made plans to. With Loki.

“Sure,” you said. “It’ll be a good way to reclaim my interests, you know? Not associate everything with Loki—‘I did this with Loki,’ ‘I made plans to do that with Loki,’ all that.”

A smile breaking across his face, Steve said, “I’m glad you feel that way. Meet you in an hour?”

*

Stepping out onto the broad whitestone steps surrounding the Met, you blinked as the sun hit your eyes. You and Steve had spent several enjoyable hours gazing at historical clothes, wandering ancient ruins, and examining paintings. Winslow Homer was Steve’s favorite painter, and you enjoyed hearing his passionate explanations of the art in the American Wing. Steve was in the middle of saying how your visit had inspired him to expand his own repertoire beyond drawing, when your eyes caught a flash of black.

‘No,’ you thought, your heart skipping beat, ‘this is ridiculous. Just because I see a guy dressed in black…’

But it was Loki. Of course it was. Getting hung on by some wannabe-Instagram model. Of _course_. Maybe she was a real Instagram model—she could have been, that hair, those legs, those lips puckered up for a too-close selfie with _your_ boyfriend—ex-boyfriend. Right. ‘This is fine,’ you told yourself.

It was not fine. Even as you forced the words into your mind, your heart skipped into overdrive, and your blood turned so hot in your veins it burned cold. Your body moved on autopilot, rushing down the wide steps as fast as you could—anything to get away from this…this spectacle.

You didn’t see the look on Loki’s face as Steve hurried after you, nor did you imagine the memories of his brother that image stirred. Loki wondered if he would always play second fiddle to a tall blond with a smile like the sun.

*

That evening, you took your customary elevator ride up to the rooftop of the Avengers tower, to tend your garden, and think. After the incident at the Met, Steve had suggested going to eat. The two of you had found yourselves at Katz’s Deli, purveyors of Old World comfort food. You ordered the square knishes—usually your favorite. That afternoon, though, you’d hardly been able to touch them for the knot of anxiety in your stomach. Steve had good-naturedly complained they no longer served kasha varnishkes, like they used to when he went there before the war, and ate your leftovers. Slowly, you had calmed down, and by the end of the meal, it had felt almost natural—sitting with Steve at a restaurant, sharing your food, your thoughts. To any passerby, you might have even looked like a couple, but you’d pushed that thought to the back of your mind. You had enough to think about right now.

It was twilight; the sun had long ago set behind the skyscrapers, and heat no longer radiated off the concrete and glass of the city. ‘It would almost be pleasant,’ you thought, gazing out over Manhattan, ‘if you could see the stars.’ You opened your star chart app, and, lifting your phone to the heavens, you gazed at the names and figures on your screen, imagining them in the cloudy, light-polluted sky above. Cassiopeia. Cygnus. Lyra.

“Whatever are you doing?” came Loki’s amused voice from behind you. The man seemed destined to plague you today.

Without turning, you replied sharply, “I’m looking for constellations on my star chart app.”

“With all these clouds, and all this light? I doubt you’ll be able to see much, my dear.”

At that, you whipped around. “Don’t,” you spat at him. “I’m not your anything anymore, and besides, I don’t think your friend from this afternoon would appreciate it very much.” Loki’s eyebrows furrowed, in seemingly-genuine puzzlement. “That girl I saw you with at the Met,” you continued. “Don’t think I didn’t see you two cozied up for a picture.”

“Just a fan, darling,” he answered in a smooth, reassuring tone. “I get asked for photographs all the time; I’m a well-known public figure.” His eyes had no lie in them—but this was Loki. The man would lie through his teeth about what he ate for breakfast if he thought it would get him somewhere. But it was true; he’d been stopped for pictures before when you were together. You were begrudgingly inclined to believe him. Maybe that was because you needed to.

Seeing the conflict in your face, he continued. “I thought I might find you here,” he said softly. “I came to ask if…There’s a performance tonight, one I thought you might enjoy. I’d already procured the tickets, and I thought that, perhaps…” His voice trailed off. Was he anxious? Loki, the ever-suave, who always had a trick up his sleeve? This was the most vulnerable you’d seen him in—well, ever, actually.

Your heart raced again, but this time, for all the wrong reasons. Considering the two of you were already broken up, you had very little to lose, all things considered. And besides—you’d dated Loki in the first place. Clearly, you had very poor instincts for self-preservation.

“Alright,” you said.

*

An hour later, you were standing in the lobby, waiting for Loki. You’d both needed to change and freshen up, which you had done in record time, you felt, considering the circumstances. You pulled your phone from your purse and began to scroll to pass the time. You were early, you reminded yourself. He wasn’t supposed to be here for five more minutes. There was no reason to panic. The minutes ticked down, and, right on cue, you heard the telltale sign of approaching footsteps

Turning to greet him, the words caught in your mouth. He wore a black button down with the sleeves rolled up, unbuttoned just one too many buttons to be completely decent. A delicate amulet of some sort drew your eye down his partially-exposed chest (and down and down); black jeans, tighter than you were entirely comfortable with, graced his long legs, and stylish black leather boots completed the look.

Catching sight of you, he grinned, and, offering his arm, the two of you were off.

*

Steve almost dropped the mug of tea in his hand when, coming from behind a corner, he spotted you and Loki, arm in arm, strolling off together, clearly dressed for a night out. Several message drafts to you and texts to his group chat with Sam and Bucky later, he sent only a short, succinct note: “Call me if you need anything.” Your phone buzzed in your purse, but you didn’t notice.

*

It was the early hours of the morning before you and Loki returned to the Avengers tower. It had been a successful evening, if you measured success by number of drinks consumed. The show venue had offered drinks (of which you had availed yourselves), and somehow, you’d both been loathe to let the evening end. So you’d found a quiet, dimly-lit bar tucked away from prying eyes, and the one glass of wine you’d promised yourself had become a bottle. And half of another. Even Loki was beginning to become affected, and by the time you stumbled back to the skyscraper, you were well and truly smashed. Loki was faring better, but only slightly.

You leaned heavily on Loki, your feet aching from your shoes. Reaching the great room—something of a misleading name, as it took up an entire floor—you paused. Moaning about your arches, you bent over to take your shoes off. “Here,” Loki murmured, his voice deep and warm, “allow me.” He put his hand on your lower back, and, crouching down, placed his other arm in the crook of your knees, lifting you into his arms. Through the haze of your drunkenness, it occurred to you that he had quite literally swept you off your feet. The thought seemed inordinately amusing to you, and you pressed your face into his chest and giggled. It felt cool, and familiar. He smelled of pine and saltwater waves.

You shifted your weight to sit more upright in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull yourself up. Loki, not expecting the sudden movement, and more than a little tipsy himself, stumbled into the couch behind him. He lurched backwards onto the cushions, depositing you unceremoniously in his lap. Catching your breath, you met his eyes once more. They sparkled with wine and mischief, and you realized how close your faces were. The world seemed to have stilled, reducing itself to only you and the man beneath you, his gaze burning straight into your soul. With anyone else it might have felt uncomfortable, but with Loki, somehow, it felt…right. You were suddenly very aware of the body sprawled out underneath you, all lean muscle and cool to the touch. And oh, how you missed touching him.

Your arms, you realized, were still thrown around Loki’s neck. Hesitantly, you trailed your fingers up, grazing the edge of his collarbone, finally reaching the sharp edge of his jaw. His eyes issued a challenge, and a warning. In response, you pressed your body closer to his. With your other hand, you brushed the nape of his neck, toying with his hair. His hand began to caress your arm, long fingers rubbing gentle circles in your flesh. You felt your body flush, responding to his touch, and, without thought, you leaned in, bringing your hand up to cup his face—

_“Hey!”_

Steve.

Oh, _shit._

*

Having disentangled yourself from Loki, you let Steve walk you back to your room. Loki had snarled at the interruption, but Steve had shouted right back, something about you being in no state for such activities. Begrudgingly, Loki had agreed, releasing you from his grasp. He had seemed almost ashamed, if that was an emotion possible for Loki to feel.

Holding the sweatshirt he’d come downstairs to retrieve in one arm, and you in the other, Steve slowly made his way to your room. The warmth of your drunkenness was fading quickly, and the floor spun beneath your feet. Steve said nothing. He didn’t have to. You longed to explain to him that it wasn’t what it looked like—that Loki had drunk his fair share, too; that you’d wanted this—initiated it, even. Somehow that thought made you feel guilty. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, not truly understanding what for.

*

The next morning (“morning” being a loose description of the hour at which you awoke), you rolled over on your side, grasping blindly for your phone on your nightstand. Instead, your fingers found…flower petals? Blinking in exhaustion and confusion, you opened your eyes to find a single rose atop your bedside table. Next to it was a small note, written in Loki’s distinctly flowering script. You picked it up and brought it close to your face. It read only:

_For last night’s mistake._


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is concerned, Bucky is sarcastic, and Sam is a good counselor. Loki is inscrutable, Steve is repentant, and you? You're just trying to make sense of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's theme songs:  
> [Witchcraft by Graveyard Club](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceq1cbQBMa8)  
> [Here You Come Again by Dolly Parton & Willa Amai](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AV-qPbZ6QQ)  
> [Bloody Motherfucking Asshole by Martha Wainwright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gbdsR5cDJlk)

You flung your head back against the pillow, groaning. ‘It is too early and I am too hungover for this,’ you thought. At long last, you willed yourself to sit up against your pillows, rubbing the grogginess out of your eyes. Checking your phone was the last thing you wanted to do right now, but you had the sneaking suspicion a text or two might be waiting for you. Besides, you were starting to feel hungry, and the last thing you wanted to do was go outside your room without assessing the situation. “Always do your reconnaissance, right?” you mumbled to yourself, swiping open your lockscreen.

It was…not as bad as it could have been. One text from Bucky, one from Natasha, and three from Sam. (Ok, only two of them really counted—the first one just said, “GIRL.”) It seemed Steve had done the honorable thing and kept last night’s little incident mostly to himself. ‘Of course he did,’ you thought. ‘He’s Steve.’ In fact, he’d probably only told Sam—he was often Steve’s confidant, but unfortunately, he had slightly less discretion. Oh well. Only two other people knew—it wasn’t so bad. Almost manageable, even.

You had no texts from Steve. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

After a quick shower to wake yourself up, you slipped out of your room, and made your way as quietly and unobtrusively as possible to the kitchen. You were hoping to get in, get your coffee and your breakfast, and get out. Escaping to your room with Netflix for the day was about all you felt you could handle.

Instead, the second you stepped in the kitchen, you were met with the stares of Natasha, Bucky, and Sam, all with very degrees of bewilderment and concern written onto their features.

“Um,” you said.

“Hey,” said Sam. “How are you feeling? Let me get you a cup of coffee.” Pulling out a stool at the breakfast counter, he motioned you over to it before heading to the coffee machine. So much for a quiet breakfast in bed. There appeared to be no getting out of this one. Natasha sat down next to you. Her eyebrows furrowed, she opened her mouth as if to say something, and then stopped herself, seeming to think the better of it.

Bucky didn’t. “So, heard you had an interesting evening,” he remarked. Bucky was a quiet one, but when he had something to say, he came out and said it. Usually, that was a trait you admired. Not so much today. Sam glared at him silently from across the room—his whole therapist schtick had been ruined. Which was a pity, you thought, because Sam knew what he was doing. Not only because he was an actual counselor, but also because he was the only one of your friend group with his shit even moderately together.

“Um,” you repeated, swallowing hard, “yeah. It was kind of a crazy night.” You paused, considering. Best to bite the bullet, you decided. “Look,” you continued, “I don’t know what Steve told you, but really, there was nothing—nobody was taking advantage, or anything, it wasn’t like that.” You felt your face growing warm with embarrassment. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “Honestly, if anything, I was the one who initiated it.”

“You know,” Natasha said softly, “Just because you initiated it doesn’t mean Loki wasn’t taking advantage of you. Of how you feel. He’s a master manipulator. Trust me. He’s the only person I know who could give me a run for my money,” she added with a small smile.

“Really, Nat, it’s not like that,” you insisted. “I…” you trailed off, unsure. Hadn’t he sought you out? Hadn’t he invited you to join him for the evening—been thoughtful enough to go to the trouble of finding something he knew you’d enjoy? Didn’t that mean it was more to him than just—?

“Just were thinking with a different part of your body than your brain?” suggested Bucky, which earned him another look from Sam. It made you laugh, though, and you felt the tension ease out of your shoulders.

“Ok, yeah, this is pretty embarrassing,” you said. “Can’t you guys just make fun of me for drunkenly hooking up with my ex like normal roommates and leave me to my hangover-cure breakfast in peace?” you asked with another laugh. Of all your friend group, Bucky had always been the least disapproving of you and Loki. (It had surprised you, at first, when you and Loki had gotten together, how nonchalant Bucky was, but then you remembered that he, too, knew what it meant to be controlled—and what it meant to try and recover.)

“Ok, ok,” replied Bucky, his hands up in surrender, before turning and sauntering his way out of the kitchen. Natasha patted you on the back, and then hopped of her stool, following Bucky. Sam hung back, though, and as he passed by, he paused.

Looking at you pensively, he said, “I know this is probably the last thing you wanna do right now, but you really ought to talk to Loki. I may not like the guy all that much, but you owe it to yourself to figure out what you—both of you—want out of this.”

“What about Steve?” you asked. Sam’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What…about Steve?”

“Last night, he just seemed so…so upset. I felt so guilty,” you clarified.

The look of concern in Sam’s eyes grew deeper. “Guilty as in, like, you disappointed him? As a friend? For making a poor decision?” You didn’t respond. You didn’t know what to say. Yes, you felt guilty for letting Steve down—but why? He’d never liked Loki, but he’d never made trouble; he wanted you to be happy, and he trusted you. ‘Or at least he used to,’ you thought. So why was this bothering you so much?

“I don’t know,” you said at last. “I guess that would make sense.” You laughed. “Maybe I just feel guilty that he had to walk in and see all that.”

Sam smiled, but the concern didn’t quite leave his expression. “Ok, well, you know if you want to talk…”

“I know.”

*

Heart hammering in your chest, you made your way to Loki’s room, and knocked sharply on the door. You were so nervous your blood felt cold in your veins. At first, there was no response, and you hesitated. Maybe he was still asleep? Or he’d gone out? But then you heard the tell-tale rustling behind the door, and you felt the sharp twinge of your heart skipping a beat. Slowly, he opened the door, just enough to see who was there. His eyes widened in surprise, and he opened the door fully.

“Can we talk?” you asked. He stepped back, ushering you into the room. His room. You took a deep breath, and then followed him inside. It was the first time you’d been in his room since the two of you broke up. You looked around—to reacquaint yourself with it, you told yourself, absolutely not to look for signs of other, newer bedfellows. A fur rug, silk sheets, damask curtains, a velvet settee, all in dark forest green and inky black. The furnishings were rich, luxurious, and just a little over-stated—not unlike Loki himself, if you were being honest. The intimacy of the space made you uncomfortable.

You perched yourself delicately on the settee. The other option was Loki’s bed, and that was…not a good idea, for so many reasons. As he took a seat on the bed, he turned his eyes to you expectantly. Oh, right. You came here to talk. Talking involved words. So why were none coming?

Loki shifted, apparently sensing your discomfort—or perhaps just expressing his own. The silence rang in your ears. ‘This is unbearable,’ you thought. Surely some words, however inane, were better than this? But just as you opened your mouth to say something, so did Loki, the sounds tumbling on top of one another. “Sorry,” you said, trying to put on a brave face and smile. It came out more like a grimace.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” murmured Loki, and you knew from this tone he meant more than the accidental interruption. Your gut twisted in anticipation, but he said nothing else, leaving it open for you to speak.

“Look…last night,” you began. Loki’s jaw clenched—you knew the look. He was steeling himself. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, either. I appreciated the rose, and the note, but really. You didn’t pressure me or anything.” You swallowed hard. “I made my own bad decisions.”

Ouch. Loki may have been a master manipulator, but in that moment, his face betrayed him—your comment had stung. A point in your favor. It felt emptier than you had imagined it would.

You were cut short by the buzzing of Loki’s phone. “Excuse me,” he apologized. You even thought he looked honest. “This will only take a moment, I assure you.” He cast you one last look before answering. “Yes,” he said expectantly. You could hear sounds from the other end, but what they were saying you couldn’t tell. “No, unfortunately, I won’t be able to make it,” he said. “We’ll have to reschedule.” Your heart skipped another beat as a wave of jealousy surged up your body, tingling in your veins. Reschedule what? Who was he talking to?

‘This is not a useful emotion,’ you reminded yourself. Loki was a free person; he could do what he wanted—whether you liked or not. And being that it was Loki, he often did.

Also not a helpful thought. It probably wasn’t a date. Definitely not with that Instagram model you’d spotted him with outside the Met. Nope. No one calls about dates. People only call for business, or to catch up if they live far away. You kept internally trying to reassure yourself as the caller made alternate plans (you assumed) and Loki murmured his assent. It was probably just a dentist appointment, or something. (‘Did beings once worshipped as gods need their teeth cleaned?’ you wondered.)

It was quiet for a moment, and you realized that while you were lost in your reverie, Loki had hung up, and was now staring at you, patiently but expectantly, and with perhaps a sharper look in his eyes than before.

“Um, anyways,” you faltered, trying to shake your anxiety, “what I mean is that—look, Loki, I think we can both acknowledge that wasn’t the smartest move from either of us. We haven’t really had a chance to talk about things, and…” you trailed off. _Our feelings are still complicated_ , you had wanted to say. And yours were. But were Loki’s? He had ended things—picked a fight and stormed out of your life without so much as a justification. Not a good one, anyways. Truth be told, you had assumed it was to see other people—Loki had started keeping late hours, and in your post-breakup haze of sorrow, you’d thought the worst.

“…and considering we didn’t break up that long ago, I think things just got a little confused,” you finished diplomatically.

“Confused.”

“I, um…” You stared at your hands, struggling for words. Despite all your best efforts, your voice wavered. All the emotions you’d been wading through in the past few weeks—hurt, betrayal, rage, despair—welled up within you, tightening into a swollen knot in your throat. The salt of tears began to sting your eyes. You felt like you were drowning.

In an instant, Loki was beside you, all his coldness evaporated. Feather-light, his hand stroked your back, encouraging you to breathe. You drew in one slow, shuddering breath, and then another. Gradually, you felt the lump fade from your throat and your breathing become calm and regular. Still stroking your back, Loki gently took your chin in his other hand, turning your face to his.

You looked him in the eyes, searching for a sign. Of sincerity, of deceit, anything. Anything to help you make sense of all this. His gaze seemed to bore straight into your soul. Tenderly, Loki brushed his thumb across your lips, and you ached. Dimly, you became aware that the hand on your back had snaked its way to the nape of your neck, cradling you. And then he kissed you.

He was gentle, almost chaste, his lips barely ghosting over yours. You remembered that kiss well. It was Loki’s way of asking permission. Almost without thinking, you found yourself reaching for him, your hands tangling in his raven hair and pulling him closer. You almost couldn’t believe yourself—at your actions, or at how easily you gave in to the demands of your body. To him.

The change in Loki was immediate. A low growl in the back of his throat, he deepened the kiss, leaning back to pull you on top of him. Beneath your clothing, your skin burned hot, and you yearned to rid yourself of the layers, to feel yourself on Loki with nothing to separate you. To see if he burned like you did. Despite the insistence of your rational mind that _this was probably a bad idea_ , you found yourself not caring. Tightening your grip on Loki’s hair, you tugged gently, and he acquiesced, throwing his head back and exposing the elegant curve of his neck. You kissed your way down his jawline and throat, nipping at the places you knew were sensitive—how well you still remembered each other’s bodies, you thought. Running his hands along your waist, Loki toyed with the hem of your shirt, teasing the skin beneath, before finally slipping his hand underneath, his fingers ghosting along your side.

His touch was like ice, and it burned in all the wrong ways. You gasped sharply as your head shot back. Loki looked up at you, his mouth slightly parted, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” you said hurriedly, sliding down off his lap. He reached for you, but you twisted away from his touch.

“You never minded my cold hands before.” His words were teasing but there was a dark undercurrent to his voice.

“It’s not that, it’s just—”

“Your dear Captain wouldn’t approve?” Loki snapped. His words had sharp edges, and they cut deeper than you might have thought they would.

“ _No_ , Loki, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Flustered, you cut yourself off, pausing to collect yourself. You took deep, steady breaths, trying to calm your pounding heart. But instead, you felt heat rise to your face, and the acrid bite of adrenaline in the back of your mouth. Then you understood: You weren’t confused. You weren’t upset. You were mad as hell.

“No, you know what, what the fuck, Loki? What the fuck? You break things off out of the blue, with no explanation—you just fucking _leave me_ , and then you act like a total fucking _asshole_ for weeks on end before you just…waltz right back into my life like nothing fucking happened! And then you get angry at me? For being confused—when you’re the one leading me on?”

You panted, out of breath from your outburst, waiting for Loki to fire back with his usual snarling venom. But he just sat there, expression unreadable, staring at you. In fury and humiliation, you spun on your heel and stormed out.

*

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you murmured, your eyes downcast. If you just looked at the floor, Steve wouldn’t be able to tell you were about to cry.

Whatever disappointment you were expecting didn’t come. “It’s alright,” Steve said, the strength of his voice reassuring. “Do you want to come in and talk about it?”

“Yeah,” you responded quietly, making your way into his room. “Only…” you hesitated. “Is it Ok if we don’t talk?”

“Sure,” answered Steve with a small smile. “I understand.”

Gratefully, you nodded, and settled onto his couch, drawing your knees up to your chest. As he sat down beside you—at a respectful distance, of course—Steve folded his hands in his lap, staring at them.

“Is it alright if I talk?” he asked quietly, and you drew in a shuddering breath, avoiding his gaze. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he assured you quickly. “I’m not angry at you. I’m just angry at myself. My behavior last night…I didn’t mean to be controlling, and I realize now that’s how it seemed. I just didn’t want you to get taken advantage of. But I didn’t have a right to get upset—not at you. I’m here for you. I’m sorry,” he finished.

You paused for a moment, considering his words. “It’s alright. Thank you. At least I know I have you looking out for me, just in case.” You finally turned to meet his eyes, and the intensity of his stare startled you. He meant it, you realized. He was actually sorry. He would do better. ‘Of course he will,’ you thought, ‘he’s Steve Rogers.’

Reclining against the sofa, you leaned in closer to Steve. You needed a hug. Seeming to sense your intentions, he pulled you close to him, wrapping you in a tight embrace before pulling away, resting his arm across your back. And then, you told him everything—about Sam’s advice, about deciding to go talk to Loki, about the kiss…

“I’m proud of you for having the guts to tell Loki off like that. What a jerk.”

“I know. I just—he is so infuriating. And it’s so frustrating that I still get so worked up by him, you know?” you exclaimed. “I hate that he still has any power over me.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but it seems natural, even if you don’t like it,” responded Steve. “You two dated for a while…you cared about him.”

“When he kissed me, I felt like—it was like I was breathless,” you admitted.

“That’s just because you were sniffly and couldn’t breathe through your nose,” Steve said pointedly.

That elicited a sharp peal of laughter. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Steve didn’t respond, perhaps sensing your desire for quiet—for space to think. Instead, he tightened his arm around you, rubbing comforting circles on your shoulder. A sense of warmth flooded you that had nothing to do with his body heat. It felt so right, somehow. Just being here, in his arms. There were no shooting stars, no fireworks; none of that spark, dangerous and intoxicating, that you felt with Loki. This was the warmth of a fire on a crisp winter night; the heat from a steaming cup of tea slowly warming your hands: steady and gentle. This was more than just friends, you realized. Your heart beat faster. Maybe you were just touch-starved.

Or maybe you were falling in love.


End file.
